The Wolf and the Mockingbird
by WitBeforeMeasure
Summary: Cersi has married Sansa off to Lord Baelish and sent them both away to the Vale. Sansa has no idea if she can, or even should trust her new husband. Sansa is nothing like Petyr expects.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I have not written any fiction at all for a very long time. I'm a writer by profession, but I have found that while I used to write stories all the time, and the characters and their actions still play along inside my head, since I have become a slave to editors, publishers and deadlines I find it much harder to write anything creative anymore.**

 **I've been enjoying other peoples Fanfiction solidly for almost 8 years now, and while I have written my own in the past, this is the first thing I have tried in a while, and the first thing I have written for Game of Thrones. I think that there is a lot more scope for Sansa and Lord Baelish as characters together, because I think Sansa will prove to be a lot stronger than she so far seems, and a lot more like him in her ability to play politics with those around her. Given Lord Baelish's confession to her in the Season 6 finale (don't worry, no spoilers!) I thought taking them back to King's Landing and putting them in a situation like that might be a good place to start (and you know, I have read far too many Harry Potter/ Marriage Law fics in my time than is probably healthy!)**

* * *

Sansa sincerely hoped that the waiting would be the worst part. She pondered this as she sat at the foot of her bed taking steadying sips from her cup of wine, waiting for her husband.

Her husband.

Of course Sansa knew what was expected. Her mother had discussed her wedding night with her what seemed like a lifetime ago before she left Winterfell for King's Landing, and she'd listened to her maids gossip and talk. She'd always be nervous, she supposed, but the thought of Lord Baelish touching her like that, seeing her without her clothes, terrified her.

By all accounts her new husband was not an unkind man, just a devious one. No one knew what side Littlefinger was on, and Sansa had no idea if she could trust the man who she was now bound to, who she would be leaving King's Landing with in the morning on the long journey to the Vale.

The sound of the door to the chamber creaking open pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up as Lord Baelish entered the room, the light from the lanterns in the hallway illuminating his face for a moment before he closed the door behind him, his expression unreadable.

* * *

Petyr Baelish looked across the room at his new wife. The Stark girl was the splitting image of her mother, and sitting at the end of the bed clutching a cup of wine that seemed far too big and clumsy in her small, delicate hands she looked so young and innocent compared to the bold, confident girl who had stood up next to him as they pledged themselves to each other in front of the court. Fear had clearly broken through her facade of bravery, and while Petyr knew better than to show it, the sight of the frightened girl absolutely shattered his resolve.

He had planned to kiss, cajole, even seduce his new wife. He barely knew the girl, but she looked so much like her mother, and he needed her at his side if he was going to gain anything from this marriage.

However, now he just wanted to be out of the room as quickly as possible so that he did not have to face her. None the less, focusing on the task at hand he took a step towards her. Sansa looked up at him like a startled rabbit at his sudden approach, and almost dropped her cup.

Setting it down after her fumble, she tried to school her features into what she thought was a calm and welcoming expression. To Petyr, it looked more like a grimace. Reaching around for ways to reassure her, instead of continuing to approach, he went to sit down on the other side of the bed, away from Sansa. The moment he sat down, she stood up, and started to pace nervously back and fourth at the foot of the bed.

After watching her turmoil for a few moments, and when he was quite sure that Sansa was again focused on him instead of her obvious avoidance tactics, Petyr patted the bed next to him. Hesitating for just a second, Sansa reluctantly sat down.

"I'm not going to hurt you Sansa" he said quietly His tone was even gentler than she had ever heard it, which took her by surprise.

Petyr could see how nervous she was. Now he'd stepped out of the shadows and he could see her pale face properly he could see that she was as white as a sheet against her flaming red hair, and that she'd been worrying her lip so much it had started to bleed. He lifted his thumb to wipe away the blood that had started to seep from her bottom lip but she recoiled at his touch.

"Sansa." She had been refusing to look at him since she'd sat down, even as he said her name again. Instead he reached down to take her hand in his, holding onto it even when she tried to pull it away.

"I am yours and you are mine, from this day till the end of my days" he reminded her.

"You're my wife Sansa, and whatever you may think of me I'm no monster." Her eyes were still downcast, so instead of pressing further he dropped her hand and stood up from the bed.

"I'll be in my study down the hall if you need me."

To Sansa's surprise he then lent down and kissed her gently on the forehead, before leaving the room without another word. She could hear him instructing the guards through the door to their chamber that his wife was not to be disturbed while she slept.

Now she was alone, Sansa no longer felt afraid. If anything, she felt disappointed in herself. Whether she liked it or not she was now married to Petyr Baelish, and she had to make the most of the situation she now found herself in. She did not know if Littlefinger was her friend, but she also did not know if he was her enemy and she needed to spend more time with him to figure that out.

He had not been unkind to her, she mused. She thought about the kind smile he had bestowed upon her the moment they had been pronounced husband and wife, and the attentive hand he had rested on her arm, and on the small of her back throughout the dinner that had followed.

But had that all not been for show?

Sansa needed evidence. She needed to find out why she had been married off to Lord Baelish, because surely the only thing on Cersi's mind when she had made the match could not only have been to pack Sansa off the the Vale and away from Kings Landing?

If she was going to find out the truth, Sansa had to play her part.

Unbidden, Sansa lifted her fingertips to the spot on her forehead where Lord Baelish had just kissed her.

This was certainly not how she'd expected her wedding night to go.

* * *

Three months worth of accounts copied across into his ledger later, Petyr heard a faint knocking coming from his study door. The candles were burning low and he'd been staring at the same set of figures on the page for who knows how long.

The door opened and Sansa appeared, looking very unsure of herself. Petyr rose up from his desk, instinctively closing the heavy book he'd been working on with a quiet thunk.

"Sansa?" He'd not expected to see her again until morning. "Is everything quite alright?"

"Are you coming to bed?" She asked the question so quietly that Petyr was not quite sure if he'd heard her properly. She still looked nervous, but otherwise her expression was completely unreadable. He stayed silent, looking curiously at Sansa in a way that forced her to continue.

"I was just wondering if you were coming to bed, husband?" Her eyes flicked to the low cot in the corner of the room where Petyr usually grabbed a few hours sleep when he was working late. He followed her gaze. She'd correctly surmised what he'd planned by way of sleeping arrangements.

"It is, after all our wedding night, and people will talk if we spend the night apart." For the second time that evening, Petyr's perception of his new wife completely changed. He inclined his head towards her and set to blow out what remained of his candles before following her out into the shadowy hallway. She did not flinch at his touch again when he slipped his arm around her waist at the sound of footsteps in the passageway behind them.

* * *

One they reached their chamber, Petyr again noted a remarkable change in his wives demeanour. Earlier that evening, Sansa had practically recoiled when he simply come close to her. Now, she boldly walked towards her side of the great bed and, still wearing the long cotton night shift he'd found her in, slipped between the sheets, obviously expecting him to follow suit.

She watched him, almost transfixed as he unbuttoned and removed his doublet, unlaced his breeches and quickly removed them so that he was left in a similar state of undress. Mimicking her actions, he slipped into bed beside her, making sure that there was a good distance between them beneath the sheets. Once he had settled down, Sansa turned over so that her back was towards him.

The last thought that Petyr had before drifting off to sleep beside his wife was that maybe, perhaps, she might just surprise him.

* * *

 **Reviews would be lovely, not just for criticism, but encouragement always helps!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Another short update as it is Sunday, and I'm procrastinating something I should have finished writing days ago.**

* * *

Petyr Baelish had always been a practical man. For most of his adult life he'd weighed each decision, each choice, each possibility presented to him carefully, only doing something if he could see some sort of personal gain. He had climbed from his position of a relatively low born Lord of a small house to the King's Master of Coin through his own cunning and guile, without wishing or receiving the help from any other.

This was probably the reason he had never decided to take a wife. He had never felt the need to share his life with someone, and no bride that had ever been offered to him had carried much value, until Sansa Stark. The girl was the key to the North, but after the night before, first when she had been so scared of him, and then afterwards when she had so boldly brought him back to bed with her he had found himself thinking.

Petyr had known from the moment that Cerci had offered Sansa to him that he would have to charm the Stark girl, make her depend on him, even care for him if he were to be able to use her to take the North. But for the first time in what seemed like forever Petyr was remembering another, tacit agreement he had made with regard to the girl who now rode next to him on the path away from King's Landing.

When Catelyn Tulley had been a girl Petyr had loved her more than anyone would ever know. When the raven had arrived from the only woman he had ever loved shortly before she had died, asking him to protect Catelyn's children, Petyr had made a vow to watch over the remaining Starks. It was the only decision he had ever made that was not in his own self interest, and when Cerci had come to strike a deal with him for Sansa he saw marring her as an opportunity to whisk her away from the Lannisters and the dwarf who would have otherwise become her husband, away from King's Landing, away somewhere safe.

So Sansa was safely bound to him in marriage, and Petyr intended on taking back Winterfell and using her to install himself and Warden of the North. But he was married to a woman, a woman he had started to suspect held more fire and passion beneath her nervous, innocent facade than he could ever have suspected. A living, flesh and blood woman who was riding beside him, rather than just a memory of a girl who had been lost to him long before she had died. To his own surprise, Petyr found himself not only wanting to take full advantage of that passion he suspected was simmering right below the surface, but he found himself wanting her to want him to.

After all, Sansa Stark was more beautiful than Catelyn Tulley ever was.

* * *

Sansa rode next to her new husband in silence.

How exactly does one get to know a man known for presenting such an enigma? She knew what she had to do to get closer to him as her husband, but she had pushed that to the back of her mind for now, choosing to focus on getting to know the man.

They had been riding for hours, side by side just ahead of the small number of servants they had taken with them from King's Landing. Lord Baelish had not said one word to her since he had helped her up into her saddle at dawn, and even before that he had hardly been talkative, simply asking her how she had slept when they had awoken, still at opposite sides of the giant bed, and if she was ready to leave.

To fill the silence, Sansa had started to catalogue exactly what she did know about her new husband as they continued along the forest path, but she was coming up short. Everyone at court knew Littlefinger, yes, the King's Master of Coin who seemed to have a finger in every single pie. For a time, in spite of the fact that they did not really know each other she had called him Uncle Petyr. As a child at Winterfell, Lord Baelish had been a shadowy figure that she'd only met a handful of times who had been a childhood friend of her mothers. His wealth came from the many whorehouses throughout King's Landing he managed, she noted with distaste. She also noted, her throat tightening slightly that Littlefinger had had a hand in her fathers downfall.

"We do not really know each other at all, do we." Sansa said at last, out loud, breaking the silence. Petyr chuckled.

"So that is what has been running through your pretty little head then? How little you know your new husband?" Sansa was not sure if he was mocking her or not.

"Well, yes. We are married now, and I don't think I can remember ever having a proper conversation with you."

"Okay then, what happened last night?" He asked her, turning his horse slightly as they walked so that he was looking right at her, the unspoken challenge in his eyes. Sansa threw a look behind her to check that none of the servants were close enough to be able to hear them. Petyr noticed this and could not decide if he was pleased that Sansa had been astute enough to check that no one was able to eavesdrop, or offended that she thought he would even ask such a question if he had not already made sure that they would not be overheard.

"What do you mean what happened last night?" she finally answered, doing her best to avoid the question.

"I mean what changed," Petyr pressed her, amusement dancing in his voice.

"What changed?"

"You can't keep answering my questions with another question, Sansa. I mean what changed after I left our bed chamber. When I came to you you were absolutely terrified of me, and a couple of hours later you sought me out so that I could sleep next to you." Sansa search around for an answer she felt that she could give Lord Baelish without seeming like a silly girl playing at a grown-up's game, her real reason for striking up a conversation with her husband still at the forefront of her mind.

"You are my husband" she reminded him carefully.

"If you really wanted me to be your husband, we would have done an awful lot more than just sleep last night, Sansa." At this she blushed. Petyr saw this, and noted that the sudden burst of rosy colour high in her cheeks made Sansa, if possible, even prettier.

"Can we carry this conversation in private, Lord Baelish?" Sansa asked, hoping that it would be long forgotten by the evening, shelving the topic indefinitely. Petyr chuckled at her, inclining his head.

"Forgive me, lady wife. It is not seemly for a lady to discuss such matters in public."

"How long until we reach the Vale?" Sansa asked, after another long period of riding together in silence.

"We're not going to the Vale."


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa had tried to question Lord Baelish several times throughout the afternoon and into the early evening, but he stayed silent, sitting up on his horse straight and tall with a slight smirk playing on his lips. Sansa found it infuriating.

Instead, she again retreated into her own thoughts, this time wracking her brain for any idea, any prior mention of where they might instead be heading. Lord Baelish had certainly given everyone the impression when they left King's Landing that they were heading for the Vale. But then, she thought to herself, wasn't that rather the point?

It was getting hard to see though the gathering darkness when they finally came to a stop at a small, dingy roadside inn at the edge of a small hamlet. It did not seem much, but Sansa was relived to be finally out of the saddle when her husband helped her down from her horse. He kept his hand on the small of her back as he guided her inside.

The inn was, if anything, even less impressive than it had appeared from from the outside. There was no proper floor, just sawdust to soak up any spilt wine or ale, and the large man sitting nearest the door leered at Sansa as she stood next to Lord Baelish.

Sensing her discomfort, Petyr drew Sansa even closer towards him with a protective arm. He'd noticed when they had dismounted earlier in the day to give the horses some water that she was becoming more and more comfortable around him. He felt her lean closer in to him, hoping he would shield her from her surroundings.

In all honestly he did not like the feel of the inn they had chosen for the night much more than she did, but if they were to reach their destination in good time this was the most logical place to stop. It would not be safe to continue riding through the night, the further they rode from the King's Road.

* * *

After speaking the the inn keeper for a few minutes, leaving Sansa hovering uncomfortably by the doorway, Lord Baelish packed their servants off the sleep with the horses in the stables and guided Sansa up the narrow, rickety stairs towards the only bedchamber.

The room was at least quarter the size of the one they had shared in King's Landing. Sansa had no choice but to undress in front of Lord Baelish in their cramped quarters and sleep next to him in their bed. Faced with this reality, Sansa felt the confidence she'd built during the day, trying to figure out Littlefinger's moves and motives, and her pride in herself at keeping a straight face when he had taunted her about their eventual bedding break, just a little. At least the room seemed much cleaner than the bar down below.

Sansa took a few steps into the room, now unsure of herself. Her stomach flipped when Lord Baelish closed the door behind them with a solid thunk.

Petyr new exactly what was running through Sansa's mind as she stood rooted to the spot. He considered toying with her again, if only for his own amusement, but the long ride had taken any real desire to play out of him. He'd only admit it to himself, but he was absolutely exhausted and even the slightly lumpy looking bed looked inviting. To preserve Sansa's modesty rather than his own, he turned his back to her before removing his doublet, breeches and boots. He pulled at the laces of his tunic, exposing his neck and giving him access to wash away at least some of the grime from the road. There was a pitcher of water helpfully left on the window ledge. After washing the best he could given the circumstances, he turned back towards his wife, ready to get into bed and allow her to wash and undress.

As he approached the bed, his eyes flicked up towards Sansa's face, hoping to catch the blush rising in her cheeks at the sight of him in such a state of undress. What he had not expected was to see her eyes as wide as saucers, shock so clearly painted across her face.

His scar.

The jagged, raised white mark that run from just below where his tunic was usually tied, all the way down to just below his sternum had been part of Petyr's appearance since he was just a boy, so he had long since stopped paying attention to it. He kept it well hidden so not many people knew it was even there. It must have taken Sansa completely by surprise. Petyr chuckled.

"You can ask, you know." Sansa quickly looked away, embarrassed that she had been caught staring, and started to undress. She turned her back to him, pulling at the laces that fastened the back of her gown.

Petyr watched her from the bed. Ladies gowns, even such a simple dress designed to travel could rarely be removed without assistance from a lover or a handmaiden. Sansa would have a girl to help her when they arrived, but for the time being he wondered how long it would take for her to ask for his help.

Stubborn, Sansa continued to struggle with the back of her dress for what seemed like an age, before she felt Lord Baelish's hands covering hers, stilling her movements.

"Let me." She swallowed. She was still nervous at his touch, scared of how far he might try to take things, but something had changed in her when she saw his scar. Her first reaction had been to step toward him and reach out to touch it. She'd wanted to run her fingers across its white, puckered trail, to trace its journey and to see just quite how deep the damage went. Sansa had wanted to touch her husband. For some reason, seeing his scar, how quite damaged the usually impeccably presented man was underneath his neat clothes no longer made her want to pull away when he touched her bare skin.

Sansa shuddered involuntarily as she felt Lord Baelish's fingers brush the sensitive skin on the back of her neck. She hoped that he had not noticed, but nothing escaped her perceptive husband. He stayed silent however, unlacing her gown right down to the small of the back, taking his time, letting his fingers brush against her where just the thin material of her shift lay between him and her bare skin just a little bit more than was strictly necessary. It was also not strictly necessary for him to raise his hands up to her head to gently work out the pins that had been holding her long, auburn hair up off of her neck for traveling, combing the kinks out with practiced fingers. Sansa stood absolutely still.

Petyr stood there for a moment, his hands still buried in her hair, trying to gauge her reaction. There was just inches between them now, and while Sansa was not quite melting into his touch, he could sense little of the utter terror she had displayed the night before when she though he was going to bed her.

That was enough for tonight, though. Sansa was no longer scared of him, and that was a start. Petyr stepped backwards, holding her golden hair pins out to her, the candle light causing them to flash in his outstretched palm.

"Thank you, Lord Baelish."

Petyr got back into bed, and Sansa followed.

"You can call me Petyr, you know."

"I…"

"Unless you want me to start calling you Lady Baelish?"

Lady Baelish. It was the first time Sansa had really considered her new title since her marriage. It felt uncomfortable somehow, like it did not really fit. Like her new name had made her less of a Stark.

"Goodnight, husband." Petyr smirked at her stubborn compromise as he leaned over to blow out the candle sitting next to the bed, plunging the room into eery darkness.

"Goodnight, wife."


	4. Chapter 4

In sharp contrast to the near silence they shared the day before, Petyr and Sansa kept pace with each other the next day as they continued their journey away from the Red Keep, falling in and out of conversation.

"Do you not mind leaving King's Landing, Lord Baelish."

"I thought I told you to call me Petyr, Lady Baelish?" His voice was teasing.

"Sorry. Petyr."

"Why do you ask that?"

"You were the King's Master of Coin. You like politics."

"And you don't think I can play politics away from the capitol?"

"Your businesses are in King's Landing." Sansa pointed out, putting an emphasis on the word 'businesses'.

"Do you mind that I am a whoremaster, Lady Sansa?" Petyr asked her, both teasing, and genuinely wanting to hear her answer. Sansa fell silent, considering his question.

"Doesn't it bother you that I keep women so that men can fuck them and make me a profit?"

"Do your whores want the men to… to…"

"You can say fuck Sansa." She was blushing again. God Petyr liked to see her blush. "No, I don't force any of my girls to work for me."

Sansa knew what she wanted to ask next, but was not sure if she was bold enough. She had so many questions, and she was toying between her fear of pushing the man riding beside her so far that she would bring forward the inevitable, and natural curiosity. She needed to know why he had married her, but in spite of herself she also wanted to understand her own reactions. Last night, in their bedchamber, Sansa had wanted to touch him. However, what had surprised her more was that when Lord Baelish had touched her, she had not wanted him to stop.

"Have you ever…" Petyr knew what she was going to ask next, and for once saved her the embarrassment of asking him outright.

"No, I do not have sex with my own whores." He noted the relief in Sansa's face and noting it for later.

"I do sometimes watch, however." TOnce again his wife's face turned crimson with embarrassment.

"You… watch?"

"There is no need to sound so shocked, my lady wife. "I have watched while my girls have brought the some of the richest and most powerful men to their knees just by taking a cock in her mouth, and I know how to bring a woman so close to the edge that she can barely breathe for desperation and need. There is so many things I want to teach you Sansa, as the master of whores."

"My lord!"

"Come, Sansa. You must have heard your ladies gossip. Your mother never prepared you for your wedding night?"

"My mother… my mother told me a bit about it." Sansa ventured, still very self conscious. "But I do not think she would have imagined me marrying someone like you."

Petyr meant to ask her to clarify what exactly she meant by 'someone like you' to get her squirming again, but he was stuck on the idea of what Cat would have said about their union. In truth he had never made a habit of watching men take their pleasure in any of his establishments; he had just said that to shock Sansa.

If Petyr were to be completely honest with himself, he was almost the complete opposite of the type of man Cat would have wanted her daughter to marry. Cat herself had never wanted him. As Sansa had so rightly pointed out her mother would have treated his business with disgust. Cat had hated how cunning and manipulative Petyr had been, even as a boy. While she had given the impression that she did, Petyr also did not think Cat ever fully trusted his council and his judgement when they were both adults, he off building his own wealth and power, and Cat married to the King's hand.

However, what interested Petyr was that while Cat had never wanted him, or even truly trusted him, so far Sansa had not shown any outright repulsion at being bound to him. She was a young, innocent girl and it was understandable that she'd be apprehensive, scared even of the much older, more experienced man who was now her husband. He was old enough to be her father. She did not even seem to show disgust at his whores, something which had successfully put most high born women off of seeking him out.

And Sansa had reacted to his touch.

"Sansa, I am not a man who makes promises, but I am going to make one now. I am your husband, and I will not allow anything bad to happen to you, not at my hand or at the hand of another."

* * *

The inn they stopped that that night was much more pleasant than the last. Instead of heading straight up to their room to get some sleep, Petyr guided Sansa to a small table in front of the fire at the very back of the bar. A young maid brought them half a loaf of rough bread and a bowl each of a hearty stew. The first cooked meal Sansa had had since leaving King's Landing warmed her through, and along with the heat of the fire she felt almost content for the first time since she had been informed of her impending marriage.

They both ate in silence, enjoying the food, but after their bowls had been cleared away they sat for a while, sipping their cups of wine and staring into the flames in quiet companionship.

Petyr had decided later on in the afternoon that he should let Sansa ask the questions, for now. She was like a timid little woodland animal. Yes, he seemed to have gained her trust for the moment and she was getting braver and bolder in her dealings with him, but too sudden a movement would send her scurrying back off into the cover of the trees.

Finally, Sansa felt brave enough to ask the question that had been toying on her mind all day. Yes, Petyr had told her she was welcome to ask how he had got that scar, but she had a feeling that it was a very personal story, therefore she was unsure if he would actually tell her the truth or not.

"Who tried to kill you?"

Petyr had decided a long time ago, even before their marriage that it was best that Sansa did not know about his relationship with her mother. However, that morning while he had been raking over her reaction to his scar, he had altered his plans slightly. He wanted to be honest with Sansa, and he knew that if he came across as sincere, the girl would be more disposed to trust him in the future. He had settled on an edited version of the truth to tell her; he would not lie, but her learning to rely on him depended in his withholding a few important details.

"When I was a boy, I was brazen and foolish." Sansa watched his face carefully, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of emotion in his usual, mask like expression. She could not imagine any world where Littlefinger could be considered foolish.

"There was a girl I loved very, very much. I loved her more than anything, but she was betrothed to another. He challenged me to a duel. I think he would have killed me if she had not stopped him."

"What happened?"

"She married him, she bore his children. And I got an ugly great scar to remind me of my folly every time I stand in front of a looking glass."

"So you stood up for her, fought for her. She saved your life, but married him anyway after he did that to you?"

Petyr felt something, an unfamiliar swelling of joy at the indignant tone in Sansa's voice as she unknowingly raked her mothers actions over the coals in his defence. Then, Sansa did something that took him completely by surprise. She reached across the table and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, caressing the back of his hand gently with her thumb in a comforting gesture. He looked up at her, startled. He wished that the table was not separating them so that he could capitalise on her suddenly reaching out to him by leaning in for a kiss. The moment seemed right.

For the first time he looked across the table and properly saw that Sansa was the girl holding his hand. Sansa, with her flaming red hair, pale skin and ice blue eyes, a woman in her own right, not a mere shadow of her mother who he had loved so desperately.

Instead, it was Sansa who surprised him. Tightening her grip on his hand, she looked right up into Petyr's eyes.

"Thank you for being honest with me, Peytr." It was the first time she had used his given name without bidding. "Here I was thinking you only told me things you think will make me blush."

* * *

After a while longer sitting in front of the fire they retired to bed. They repeated their routine of the night before, Petyr turning away from Sansa while he washed and undressed before helping her out of her gown. As he had done the previous evening, he took his time with the laces and combed out Sansa's hair for her with his fingers. Sansa had brushed her hair over her shoulder to give him better access to the back of her gown, and ever so slightly leaned in to his touch.

While the bed looked much more inviting and comfortable after their long ride compared to the last night, in stark contrast to the roaring fire downstairs even Sansa felt the chill underneath the thin sheets in the cold room. She could feel the heat from Petyr's body in the bed next to her, so she carefully shuffled as close to him as possible under the covers without touching him. She yelped in shock a few moments later when she felt Petyr's warm arm snake around her waist, pulling her closer so that she was almost flush against his warm body.

"Sansa, you're shivering." She wriggled, again suddenly unsure if she was completely comfortable being in such close and intimate proximity to him. Petyr felt his cock stir as she rubbed against him, so he held her tighter to still her movements.

"Sshh," he murmured in her ear, lifting a hand to stroke her hair, one of the few intimacies he knew she was already comfortable with. "Let me keep you warm."

After a few more moments of apprehension, Sansa allowed herself to relax slightly, taking the opportunity to mentally catalogue how it felt to be held by her husband. Two nights ago, when he had come to her on their wedding night Sansa could not have imagined that she would be lying there, with his arm draped across her stomach and this would be the most intimate contact that he had pressed upon her thus far.

For an older man more than twice her age, Petyr Baelish with his pointed beard and silvering temples was not what Sansa had expected. His torso was firm and strong behind her, and she'd caught herself thinking more than once that day that he was actually quite handsome in an unconventional fashion. And because at that moment she was quite sure that he had no intention of using it, Sansa did not even feel apprehensive of the solid bulge she could feel pressed flush against her bottom.

No, Petyr Baelish was nothing like the knights and the princes in the love stories she had grown up reading and she had pictured herself marrying.

The man was an enigma, and one that Sansa wanted to take the time to unravel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry it has been a few days! I have officially now finished a massive writing project I have been working on for quite some time, and I got hyper focused on it as I approached the finish line.**

 **Oh, and you'll notice that I have played around with the show timeline a bit. Artistic licence to make my own story fit. Forgive me!**

* * *

By the end of the third day, Sansa was heartily sick of being in the saddle.

She had woken up hours before with Petyr's arms still wrapped tightly around her. She had lain there for a few minutes, trying to decide if it was best to wake him, or to try and wriggle out from his grasp to wash and get dressed. Petyr had made the decision for her, giving her another lingering kiss on her forehand before pulling away and leaving her to get ready for the final leg of their journey.

Today, the conversation as they rode had turned to their families. Well, Sansa's family at least. She had not learnt anything from Lord Baelish that she did not already know; that he was the sole heir of a historically non-descript, but very wealthy family from the Fingers. He had been married to her Aunt before her untimely death, and that he had chosen to rule over the Vale as Lord Protector from King's Landing, rather than deciding to stay and watch over Sansa's young cousin that she had never met.

Instead, Petyr had seemed to want to get the lay of the land with Sansa's remaining siblings.

"Your half-brother Jon is now Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. He is doing well for himself at the wall." He made the statement by way of a test, to see if she was privy to any information about her family that he had not already picked up.

"He is?" This was news to Sansa. She had not heard from Jon since a brief letter from him the year before when he had arrived at the wall.

"Quite recently I believe."

"I will be sure to write to him and congratulate him of his new position."

"Have you heard anything from your sister?"

"Aria?" Petyr could tell from the change in Sansa's voice when talk moved from her brother to her sister that she had not heard from the girl since she left King's Landing.

"I don't know if she is even alive."

Petyr did not know what it was like to have siblings. His parents were dead, and he was the only family that he had, unless you were going to count his step-son, which Petyr did not.

"Do you want me to try and find her?" He certainly had not intended to offer up his services when he had introduced the topic of family, but the sadness in his wives voice made him want to try and do something to give her comfort.

"I don't want you to waste your time, Lord Baelish. As I said, I have no idea if she is even still alive."

* * *

The house they arrived at was nowhere like Sansa had visited before. While she had grown up at Winterfell, and stayed in the Red Keep which were both dwellings fortified for siege, the country house their little entourage was riding towards was open, and aesthetically pleasing, built as a peace time home rather than somewhere that needed to be defended against invaders. Aside from a few out houses and stables, there were no other buildings for miles, save a small village of about twenty houses. The house was built in the clearing of a vast forest, and someone had seemed to have taken great care with the gardens that surrounded the golden bricks.

Sansa stopped her horse at the top of the driveway. Noticing her pull on the reins, Petyr drew up beside her.

"Where are we?" Petyr smiled smugly at the touch of wonder in her voice.

"Welcome to your new home."

"My new home?"

"You did not think I spent my time up in that cold and windy castle up at the Fingers, did you?"

Petyr Baelish kept a beautiful country home. A beautiful country home that Sansa was sure no one else, certainly at King's Landing knew about.

Petyr pulled his horse around and started up the drive. Sansa followed.

"How long will we be staying here?"

"I think we can allow ourselves a few weeks before we need to show our faces to the world again."

* * *

It did not escape Sansa's notice that once they reached the courtyard of Petyr's house he jumped down from his horse so that he could be the one to help her our of her saddle, rather than his page boy who had leaped in the action the moment they appeared. Petyr took her hand in his, and did not let go of it as he led her into the house, introducing his new wife to his cook and his housekeeper, instructing the latter to find Sansa a girl from the village to help her with her hair and to dress in the mornings.

Sansa allowed herself to be led around the house in a daze. Out of all the places she had expected to be taken from the moment she found out they were not in fact headed to the Vale, a beautiful, secluded country home which her new husband had somehow managed to keep secret from everyone was not one of them. Her husband was a politician, he thrived on royal courts and holdings that could be defended. The light, airy house, no, home, Sansa was now walking through was a complete contradiction of everything she thought she had known about the man.

After he walked her around the gardens, shown Sansa where to find the kitchens, and told her to feel free to explore his vast library, Petyr led her down a long, darker oak passageway on the opposite wing of the house to the more public rooms.

"Not many of the servants come down this way." Petyr still did not let go of her hand.

"My personal study, my solar and my bedchamber are down here." He pointed to a door to the left of the gallery. "If you can't find me anywhere else in the house, if you need me for anything, just come and find me." Sansa nodded. She still had spoken a word since they set foot in the house.

Petyr continued to pull her down the hallway towards the only other door off the narrow gallery

"I thought you would like your own rooms."

He pushed the door open and Sansa stepped inside. He had given her her own small solar overlooking the rose garden. She followed him through a low door into a separate dressing room where her travelling trunk had already been set down across the room from a tall, full length looking glass, and again into a large bed chamber, bigger than anything she had been used to.

Petyr finally let go of her hand, stepping back slightly, giving Sansa the space to take in her new surroundings.

When they had set off from King's Landing a few days before, Petyr had fully intended on delivering Sansa to the Vale, as he had been bid. But something had changed on that first night away from the Red Keep, away from the Lannisters, when he had seen her reaction to his scar, and the next day he had decided to chance direction. True, he had told Sansa the day before that they were not headed to the Vale, but at the time he had told her that to scare her, to see what reaction he would get.

Peytr had decided that Sansa, his wife, was someone he should take a risk on, so he had decided to share with her a true part of himself. He had been alone so long, he needed to take a chance on someone. Sansa was bound to him for life, so if he could not learn to trust her, even a little bit, there was probably no hope for him.

He felt his heart swell just a little when Sansa turned away from her room with a small smile playing on her lips. He could tell she was trying not to look too pleased, but the light that was now dancing in her eyes gave her away. She took a step towards him. Petyr turned his head, just slightly, catching something else flashing fleetingly across her face.

Sansa kissed him tentatively at first, but Petyr monopolised on the fact she was the one to make the first move by kissing her again, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her flush to him, guiding his other hand into her hair, holding her head in place as he backed her into the wall behind them. His kisses were firm, and the moment he felt Sansa's arms rest themselves on his shoulders, anchoring her to him he added more pressure, running his tongue across her lips seeking entry.

While Sansa had taken him by surprise, Petyr did his best to stay in control.

Breaking their kiss, he turned her around, placing her hands flat on the wall just above her head. When she tried to move them, he grabbed her wrists and held them there until he was sure she would keep them there. It was a risk, playing the dominant with a girl who was slightly afraid of sex, but he could tell from the way she had been kissing him, and from how Sansa had moaned into his mouth for the first time when he had pressed his hardness between her legs through their clothes that for now, her curiosity and need to feel the things he had awoken in her were outweighing her fears.

He kissed her neck, tracing his tongue lazily along the bottom of her ear lobe, alternating between soft, barely there kisses and wet circles. He blew slightly below her ear, and Sansa squirmed against him. While his mouth was busy teasing Sansa's neck, his hands had their first chance to explore her slender body through her riding dress. With one hand he found her right breast, squeezing and kneading with just a little pressure, while his other ran over her curves, ghosting the shape of her body. Every time she went to move her hands from the wall of her bed chamber, he placed them back. His right hand moved across to her other breast, and she sighed into his touch, so he bit down on her neck ever so gently. This time she moaned again, and Petyr dipped his free hand down so that it was pressing between her legs, applying pressure and rubbing up and down against her ever so slightly.

And then, Petyr stepped back. Leaving Sansa panting against the wall, he bid Sansa a quiet goodnight, and left the room.

Sansa leaned against the wall for another moment, before finding her way down to the floor, leaning back to catch her breath. In all honestly she was not entirely sure what had just happened. She had felt the urge to kiss him, gently, to show that she appreciated what he had given her, but Petyr had taken over. She had expected him to kiss her back, what with all of the suggestive comments he had been making over the last few days, and the way his fingers lingered against her almost bare back every night as he helped her out of her gown.

But there was no way Sansa could have imagined that. Nothing Sansa had ever been told or had overheard could have prepared her for that.

Sansa was not sure how she felt about how Petyr had left her. Part of her was relieved that that was as far as things had gone, but another, growing part of her had wanted him to carry on touching her. Still embarrassed to admit it to herself, there was a moment where Petyr had pressed his hand between her legs where she wished that there had not been layers of heavy fabric between them, and that he had been able to push his hand even further.

* * *

"Sansa?" Petyr's eyes were bleary with sleep, but he could not imagine who else would be slipping into his bed in the middle of the night.

"It felt strange sleeping without you." Sansa spoke quietly, embarrassed by her admission. She shuffled closer towards Petyr under the sheets, but stopped just short of their touching. Making the split second decision that it was probably best if they both just went back to sleep, he reached out and pulled his wife towards him so that Sansa's head was resting on his shoulder. It was less intimate than how they had lain the night before, and far less intimate than the mere whisper of pleasure that they had shared just hours before, but that could wait until morning.

* * *

 **Reviews are always appreciated!**


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